


The Dorks' Misadventures in Wonderland Bay

by UmbrellaGoblin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Gay Love Story, Big Gay Mobsters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Bites, M/M, Medical Jargon, Medical Kink, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbrellaGoblin/pseuds/UmbrellaGoblin
Summary: Pirates! Pirates! Lots of pirates! What do we think of them when we hear that word? Some rough, massive oafs, beasts in human skin that used to raid a lot of ships back in time? Well, some characters of the Gotham Rogues Gallery certainly fit that stereotype, while others are here to disprove this stereotype. This work is essentially a polyamorous love story between Jervis Tetch - a scribe with a passion for poetry and the Mind, Jonathan Crane - a ship's quartermaster obsessed with the Body, and the Music Meister - a flamboyant raider delighted with his own talent & hubris. It is a story about the transformation of these characters from meek yes-men to proper pirates, and a story of their journey from one point to the other. How the hell did they end up like this? Find out in the story, itself! T'is some foul business, though, I tell you...
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Harvey Dent, Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Scarface (DCU)/Arnold Wesker, hattercrow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Dorks' Misadventures in Wonderland Bay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dancing_penguins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_penguins/gifts), [gaymien66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymien66/gifts).



Being on a ship, roaming the salty waves of the Caribbean sea, drinking rum, eating fresh fruits and blasting pirates in the name of the Queen -  _ that  _ might be the pinnacle of every lad’s dream in our time! Though, once they board their schoner, once the captain gives out orders and the body gives up on the very first day, dreamy folks like these start singing a very different song; a British caravelle, only known as ‘the Asylum’ by its willing prisoners, set sail across the Atlantic more than a month ago. Rowing and drifting in hostile waters was the last thing the Asylum’s crew wished to do, and yet, for the past week - the weather’s been dormant. Not a single gush of wind in a week is bad news for the meek, who laid beneath the decks and hungrily swallowed every salty bit of water they could muster from their cages. Oh - and you thought there was time to care for the sick? Even if they’re your best buddy? No sir - everyone worked on the deck, daily and nightly, relentlessly, in an attempt to spot the slightest bit of land and find the rum and fruits the younger crew members so yearned for. Once the hot Caribbean sun finally set, the crew (besides the captain) ran down to their respectful hammocks, to rest and dream of anything  _ but _ dried meat and tack.    
  
Among all the stomachs rumbling, the imagination ran wild! At least for a short, stout fellow who ran and simpered right besides the Asylum’s captain: Jervis Littleton-Tetch. Most sailors called him the Hatter, however, mostly for the silly top hat he brought back from the shore. Hell, even the price tag’s still on this goofy little thing! An occasional giggle could be heard whenever Jervis appeared under the decks, or, well, anywhere outside of the captain’s quarters. They lived together. Plenty of suspicions arose. To be fair, this fine young lad DID look like a fairy, especially with his dandy clothes and soft speech. It always contrasted with the rag-tag, rough-tough sailors, hardened either by age or by circumstance. The walk was especially funny to these brutes - Tetch hopped around his immediate boss like a little bunny. Had the hair for it, too; luscious, blond - just like the chicks he liked, or claimed to like. Small, buttery hands of this buck-toothed rabbit constantly scribbled in a notebook as tiny as he. Captain Jeremiah Arkham used his prettily-dressed errand-boy for all kinds of paperwork, but despite the abundance of books littering his gentle frame - the posture of his was pitch,  _ perfect.  _ And so he stood, sat, laid, and scribbled. Nobody ever saw him eat or drink anything besides tea. All the tea reserves were spent on Jervis, and this pissed the crewmen off even more. The Captain, however, cherished his scribe all the more eloquently for his diligent work.   
  
But what could the scribe possibly scribble, besides detailed notes on Lord Arkham’s speech? Poetry. The bunny writes poetry. On a stranded ship, in the middle of nowhere. Most folks of his bureaucratic origin would’ve probably given up on their own lives by now, and yet - Jervis was beaming. He’s happy to be around his crew! And most importantly - his captain. Since Lord Arkham always protected him from the sneers and… Inappropriate touches from the crew’s side. Another thing the fancy-pants is always praised for is his genuine care for the sailors’ well-being. Be it physical or mental, the Hatter’s always there to vent to, or tend to an old wound that’s gotten sore from all that sea salt.    
  
Thankfully, HIS time below the decks was over, too. Now Jerv could rest at his rustic desk, right beside Lord Arkham, who dined on fresh meat and actual, genuine bread. The smell of good food mixed in with Tetch’s perfume - yes, perfume - candle wax and old paper. Dim, orange light constantly flickered and changed the scribe’s shadow, wobbling it across the documents. Much to his annoyance, of course. With work done for the night, Jervis sat, quietly, only the quick, masterful strokes of a goose’s feather heard from his busy lil’ corner.    
  
_ “Once a dame came from Corbray,  _ _   
_ _ On a rainy, laden day. _ _   
_ _ Her silly game of bodies plenty  _ _   
_ _ Has left men, women in their shanties, _ _   
_ _ For the dame dinnae her panties _ _   
_ _ Belong to Wonderland Bay.”  _   
  
Lord Arkham was… Surprised by Jervis’s muttering. A single “What?” is enough to express his confusion, and yet Jeremiah barely stifled his laughter on the matter.    
“Oh?” Even the scribe looked disgusted with himself now, “Silly limericks, Sir. I’m so dull tonight! Sorry, my head is just…”   
The Hatter and the Captain didn’t have to explain themselves to one another. Jeremiah’s gloved finger touched Jervis’s luscious lips, thus quickly shushing him down. Then, his other hand reached for his hat. That poor bunny! He whined like a whelp when he took it off. His most precious item, handled so carefully, and yet removed from his bright little noggin. “If you’re tired, Mr. Tetch…” The Captain said, “...A good nap should do you justice.”   
“Mm-but it cannot stop!” The Hatter argued, “I  _ want  _ to write! But somehow, I cannot!”   
“Oh  _ Jervis _ , you determined little fool. You are tired, that’s all. Go ahead and rest, repose - my bed is also yours, remember? You love the mattress in cloth’s stead, do you not?”   
“Y-Yes, but-”   
“No butts in here, young man,” Lord Arkham said in his strong, stern voice. He tried to stare his henchman down just as strictly, but… Jervis’s smile always cracked him up. He’s such a happy, dumb, insignificant creature. A bunny. A  _ pet  _ to his liking! Despite his supposed uncaring nature to Tetch, he called him by his name. In fact, Lord Arkham is the  _ only  _ one who does. And, seeing as how the Hatter does not get angry, period, the Captain cracks up into a smirk at first, then a grin and a tiny noogie to his lad.    
“You absolute dork!” He added, “Fine, fine. We can keep the lights on… For now.”   
“Oh COOL!” Jerv jumped into the ruffling palm, “No, no, I can make it much better to your liking!”   
“Really now, Jervis? Let’s hear it.”   
  
“Aheu-hem! Uhm…    
_ Once a lad came from Corbray, _ _   
_ _ The biggest town of Wonderland Bay. _ _   
_ _ He’s had the biggest talent for _ _   
_ _ Words and healing the sores _ _   
_ _ Of captains, sailors and some more  _ _   
_ _ Folks through the night and day. _ _   
_ _   
_ Ha! See? I don’t need rest!”   
And now Jeremiah got… Pouty. “Just because you simper before me doesn’t mean I’ll ignore your state,  _ boy, _ ” Another set of ruffles came from the Captain, much to the Hatter’s chagrin. The latter gently fought and swatted the petting arms away, though failed miserably at every attempt of doing so. “Ahh, you and your nursery rhymes… Let’s drink some grass and get to bed!”    
“Alright, alright!” Tetch gigglesnorted in between, “Sounds like a plan, Sir. No, honestly so - I-I suddenly feel tired, and droopy, and entiiirely deeeaad insiiide…” And so, Lord Arkham’s scribe-rabbit melts into his arms like putty, leaning into the ruffles with his silky blond locks and cheeks, perfectly-round and quite freckly in nature. The kettle’s boiling, but Jervis barely noticed - his motions, automatic and quick, put said kettle off the coals resting at a fireplace. Tea is… Tolerable, but not delectable. The Hatter’s mind is elsewhere, you see! He’s… Dreaming again. And, as he sat in front of the backdoor window, blankly staring into the dark and stormy void of the sea, words rolled through his mind and automatically transferred to paper. Along with bunnies, hats, and whatever else Mr. Tetch could scribble into a single page’s worth.   
  
_ “O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done, _ _   
_ _ The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, _ _   
_ _ The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  _ _   
_ _ While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim, and daring…” _ _   
_   
Dreams of fresh soil filled the Hatter’s mind. Actual vegetation, life among the high society once more. Parental love, after all, was not an ingredient in crafting a man called Jervis Tetch - someone who craved it from his infancy. He remembered his Mum - so beautiful and young, and yet so irresponsible of him and his younger sister. Jervis was just a babe! How could he possibly… Ah. It’s best to look at the Captain, for Lord Arkham’s all he has now. The feather stopped tracing letters out. Then, as the small fellow passed out, Jeremiah carried him to bed, whilst remaining vigilant over that limp, warm body of his. There were papers to sort out, still, but his scribe was not to blame; it is  _ he  _ who let his grand mind flow! And, as Jervis slept, his little scribbles’ words began twisting, eroding, reducing themselves to the very basics:   
  
_ “O Captain, My Captain,” The Hatter kept repeating,  _ _   
_ _ And so he heard among the waves his minuscule heart beating.  _ _   
_ _ His Captain hugged around him tight,  _ _   
_ _ So they could rest for rest the night  _ _   
_ _ That might as well leave them cold, hard and beaten.”  _   
  
***   
  
It could not have been more than half an hour since Lord Arkham’s scribe fell limp to slumber. An explosion rocked the caravelle more than any storm could. By the sound of it - a cannonball, directly to the ship’s side. Jervis woke up suddenly, swiftly. He didn’t find the Captain laying next to him, much like he usually did. Separated by a little septum that laid on the bed, he could usually hear Lord Arkham’s snoring. But now? Now Jeremiah’s absent, and he’s nowhere to be found! Loud screams of the crew members and other voices rumbled through the thick, armored door of their quarters. They rumbled on, and on, until they stopped, one by one - muffled out by a flute of sorts. Such beautiful notes came through the door - the Hatter wished to stick to it, come out, listen to the voice and the master behind such a one-man orchestra; the Music Master. A harsh knock on it, however, made the Hatter stumble backward, and come to a realization he’s being messed around with. As reason prevailed, Tetch ducked behind the desk; smart move. Buckshot went through the thick wooden walls, thus breaking one of the three locks on the barrier that separated him from a certain end. Thankfully, Jervis took his notebook & scribbles with him. One of the metallic bits pierced through the lone oil lamp, therefore rendering the Captain’s quarters dark. But through darkness visible, Jervis Tetch trembled and let his wild imagination flow even wilder:   
  
Now the Hatter’s in front of a dilemma; for one, he could stay quiet. Dormant. Since that’s exactly what Jeremiah wanted of him in an ambush like this. But, on the other - what promised him safety? How could he be certain a ship won’t be sunken with him still on board? And what if he’ll be shot on sight without the enemy even  _ knowing  _ he’s there? Drowning was one scary fate, especially since Jervis couldn’t swim. On the other hand - he could turn himself in once the enemy ventured forward. But what promised him safety behind the frontlines? How will other captives look at him? And what if they make him walk the plank, instead? Both fates were equally-horrifying. And so the Hatter sat, entirely still, the gunshots right behind him barely audible due to his fast-beating heart. His legs trembled as much as his body did, and his lungs barely took in enough air to keep them aerated. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t feel sad, or scared. Surprisingly enough, he felt nothing. Instead, words kept ringing through his head along the shots and his own heartbeat:   
  
_ “But O Heart! Heart! Heart! _ _   
_ _ O the bleeding drops of red, _ _   
_ _ Where on deck my Captain lies, _ _   
_ _ Fallen cold and dead!”  _   
  
Lips moved, involuntarily, and soon - the Hatter sang, along the rhythm of the flute given to him by warring sides. Hands moved on their own, and the little songbirds of their Master assisted in bringing that rabbit out of his hole. But suddenly, another voice spoke from within, rumbling through both ears of his like thunder. “Kill! Kill them!” It spoke, “Kill for Lord Arkham! Avenge him! Show what we’re worth!” Blood already laced with adrenalin, it pumped through Jervis’s body faster and faster. Pupils dilated. Tetch didn’t even feel as the letter knife made its way into his gentle palms. They’re meant for quills and ink! Not blood and blade! And yet, the Doctor took a deep breath… And jumped out from his cover:

  
There were at least three men in the Captain’s quarters. One got a quick slash to the face, the other was stabbed in the neck, and the third caught the Hatter’s palm before it could reach his chest. Right now, Jervis was unnaturally strong, so he kept, on, pushing. Until the letter knife was wedged into the heart right to its very hilt, although it then broke off from its handle. Three men down, hundreds more to go. The feral beast unleashed from inside a harmless scribe quickly faltered, however; that voice. That soothing, masterful voice has gotten so shrill he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Jerv rushed through the front door and onto the blood-stained deck. Most men were gone - probably under the surface. But the ship is sinking! He must save them! Or, well, must he? And so the Music Master sang, amid the piles of rubble and a sinking ship, with Hatter’s voice supporting his, in turn:   
  
_ “Avast, avast! The little bunny’s finally arrived! _ _   
_ _ Whatever shall I do in spite to keep you pacified~  _ _   
_ _ Now, tell me: What in the world we do  _ _   
_ _ With a gentle, tiny thing like yo-ou?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Let go! Where is my captain? Speak!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Not dead, not living - laying, just as meek _ _   
_ _ As you. Why only them you seek?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Where is he?! Tell me now, or perish!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “My, you, thing, do not know your merit!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “So do not you, Sir. Please look into my eyes!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Am looking.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Dead into center.  _ _   
_ _ And what you see before thee, is your doom!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I highly doubt it!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Doubt it all you want!  _ _   
_ _ A peasant and a duke _ _   
_ _ Cannot exist together!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Some very prissy manners for a fake without his flute~” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “A fake?! Surely you jest! _ _   
_ _ Although your voice is what scorned Nature would behest _ _   
_ _ Upon me in her wildest, you are not the best, _ _   
_ _ For  _ _ my _ _ rhymes come from blood, and not the bleeding chest.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Delectable. Your talent’s evident, my boy, _ _   
_ _ Detestable, though, that the water’s prevalent. Ahoy!” _   
  
And so their song has ended. Although rasp and brash in nature, the voices of theirs blended in together - a symphony of bitter hate and sweetened charm created a bittersweet melody which made the Asylum’s remnants dance towards their doom - towards a much more grandiose flagship that had its hooks attached to its walls. Such was the Music Master’s gruesome talent; once his delightful sounds could be heard, every sailor lost his will to the rhythm and the voice. Though, the mysterious figure was impressed with how the Hatter played him, therefore - the only way to deal with him was to provide some silence. Out of respect, the Master kept himself quiet, and let one of his loyal henchmen butt Jervis’s head with a rifle. The poor lad fell into his arms, unconscious. Unable to see as his ship, his Asylum, his last hope of reaching land unscathed, has vanished into the void.


End file.
